


first dates and serial killers

by TheReluctantShipper



Series: TRS' Destiel Ficlets [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 04:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19221586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheReluctantShipper/pseuds/TheReluctantShipper
Summary: Their first date, then their six hundredth date (approximately).





	first dates and serial killers

_**First Date** _

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m so fucking nervous. _

Dean wipes his hands on his best jeans, grateful that they’re dark-wash so they won’t show the sweat. He tries to gather up the nerve to knock.

It’s just that it’s  _ Castiel fucking Novak _ on the other side of that door. Castiel, who’s wicked smart (graduated at the top of their high school class just two weeks ago), is nerdy to a fault (Dean remembers Charlie fuming after a debate they’d had about Tolkien, but begrudgingly admitting that Novak fought fair and had some good points), and is  _ painfully attractive _ (cue all of the embarrassingly sexy dreams Dean has had about the guy). Dean doesn’t know what the hell Cas was doing when he said “yes” to Dean’s stammered-out question, but he’s one hundred percent certain that he’s about to fuck everything up.

He’s wearing a dark green button-down that his mom says makes his eyes look good, dark jeans, his nicest sneakers, and there’s  _ gel in his hair. _

_ I’m gonna throw up, _ he thinks suddenly.  _ Fuck, I’m gonna throw up. _

Instead, he watches in horror as his fist raises and knocks on Cas’ front door.

Cas answers, wearing a cerulean henley, jeans, and sneakers almost identical to Dean’s. He smells good, and his hair is just as wild as it always is. He looks a little tight around the eyes, but otherwise seems mostly relaxed when he smiles a little.

“Hello, Dean. You’re early.”

* * *

**_Nine Years Later…_ **

“Dean!”

Dean frowns at the kitchen counter he’s wiping down. “What!”

“If you don’t get your ass in here in two minutes, me and this serial killer documentary are starting without you!”

Dean grins down at the rag in his hand. “Dammit, Cas, I-”

“No excuses! It’s Valentine’s Day, Dean. We have a tradition, and cleaning isn’t part of it. Get in here.”

Dean tosses the rag into the sink and schools his expression into something disgruntled as he walks into the living room. The place is a disaster area, and Cas is in boxers and one of Dean’s old Dungeons and Dragons shirts. He’s wearing his glasses (poor Cas is blind as a bat, which Dean thinks is endlessly funny), and his hair is flat on one side where he fell asleep before the Chinese was delivered.

Dean flops down onto the couch next to his husband, opening his arms because he knows Cas is going to immediately crowd his space, grumpily pressing his face into Dean’s neck and basically sitting in his lap, even though they’re both grown men who are closer to thirty than not. He holds Cas close and buries his nose in that dark, wild hair, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply.

“Ted Bundy waits for no one, Dean,” Cas says firmly, still cuddled up close.

Dean smiles and kisses Cas’ forehead. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Also, if you ate all the potstickers, I want a divorce.”

Cas snorts derisively and Dean has never felt luckier.


End file.
